


Blight

by Anonymous



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Curse Breaking, Curses, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, I am not interested in discourse please and thank you, Kaer Morhen, Language of Flowers, No Smut, Nobody Dies, Not Beta Read, The Djinn is the villain here, The Djinn removed consent for both of them, Vomiting, Winter At Kaer Morhen, but rEVERSED, in this house we hate the djinn, not in detail!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Hanahaki is a fun little trope where someone loves someone else, and coughs up pretty little flower petals and flowers and stems until they either declare their love.... or die.The idea is fairly dubcon as it is, it could be considered coercion, as some fics say you die if it's unrequited. I read one where a character refused to declare their love, choosing to perish. It was beautifully done! But after reading that.. I thought...Why would the flowers be beautiful if the relationship is toxic?Here they are not.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24
Collections: Anonymous





	Blight

The thing about hanahaki is that it moved as fast as the person afflicted by it. Geralt, in all things emotional, moved slowly. So it took him years to call Jaskier a friend, before he was willing to acknowledge the love he had for the noisy, obnoxious, pick up artist of a friend he'd found. 

When he moved fast, he made mistakes. When he reacted, things weren't thought through. He didn't have time to think, when the Djinn attacked. 

But it took years for him to realize the depth of his error. 

\-----

Destiny was not one to take kindly to interference with her plans. It took over two years for Geralt to start to worry. It was just a cough, to begin with. The beginnings were easily ignored as just the unpleasantness of toxicity. For so long his focus was on ignoring the child surprise and destiny's demands on him. He didn't connect the dots that every meeting with Yennefer, with every tumble in her bed, every week lost in her arms, the cough got worse. 

In the end it was Lambert, of all people, who pointed it out. 

Deep in winter, deep amber eyes bore into his from across a table. Both deep in their cups, as was common for any time Geralt was willing to speak of his emotions. 

Talking about emotions moved them faster, committed things to the world that he'd found rarely turned out well. So he learned to talk in circles, speak the circular, vague language so familiar to the nobility he inevitably found himself surrounded by. 

Lambert knew him better than that. 

Lambert had watched the cough get worse, over another decade. Time moved so quickly, days flicked past when little changed. But his brothers saw him in flashes, months apart, and Lambert was done waiting for the white wolf to say anything of substance. 

But of all the things Lambert was, loyal, clever, and skilled... delicate with his speech was not one. His attempt to pry loose whatever had lodged itself quite literally in Geralt's chest was unsuccessful. It wasn't the first time Geralt thought plaintively that though his dislike of portals was undeniable, it would be incredibly useful to escape the keep. 

It seemed, for a while, that argument accelerated his decline, as Geralt's coughing grew ever worse. No one could explain the strange blackened clumps Geralt tried to hide. A slow witcher was a dead witcher, and he trained harder. 

It wasn't until Eskel, with his sad, patient eyes, asked over breakfast why Geralt didn't call Yennefer to attempt to determine the cause of his illness did Geralt's concern deepen. Upon the mention of the sorceress, Geralt doubled over, the first recognizable flower bud silenced everyone at the table. 

Lambert slammed a jar of honey down, pointing at the offending plant. It wasn't right. Even for all they knew of a fairy tale affliction, <i>that</i> was not right. The crack of glass on the table had made Geralt flinch, eyes flying down to his hands, cowed momentarily by Lambert's rage. 

Narrowed eyes regarded him, patient and observant. But Lambert said nothing for a long while, just narrowed his eyes. Rhododendron were pretty, clustered little flowers. But they were dangerous. Poisonous. 

Yennefer arrived soon after that, and the chaos only worsened. Geralt's flowers slowly grew bigger, but the dark, rotten nature of them remained unchanged. 

Vesemir took the sorceress aside, a full day where they spoke privately, resulting in her taking over one tower room with instructions to leave her to her privacy. 

It didn't stop her voice from carrying across the courtyard, the crash of glass punctuating arguments. The lingering, sickly sweet smell that permeated the halls. For all the added tension brought to the keep, it escaped no one's notice that Yennefer was coughing, too. 

But for all of the arguments, and sizzling tension, winter was waning. The trails would clear and little could keep Geralt penned in where quiet, knowing looks interrogated him as he slowed. It'd already progressed to complete blooms, and nothing Lambert had tried had managed to remove the sickly sweet odor of decay off Geralt's tunics. 

But still, the impasse was too much for one so used to keeping his own council. Geralt could talk and talk and never say anything of substance, and Lambert raged over the injustice of it. Vesemir's eyes were sad, but he did nothing other than restrict Geralt's training. 

Eskel was lost. This was not a battle he could fight for Geralt. There was no enemy except an obscure magic within him that was tearing him to pieces. They discussed it quietly at night, in Lambert's room. Plans were made to find Rhododendrons. Lambert refused to explain how he knew what the rotted, fetid flower clumps were, much less their meanings. 

Beware. 

Danger. 

They knew this curse would kill him unchecked, but with Yennefer coughing as badly as Geralt did at the beginning of winter it was anyone's guess if it was contagious. None of the books Vesemir could read in the remnants of their library had any information. Geralt refused to talk at all at this point, petals falling from his lips even as he attempted to eat dinner. 

He was thin, and gaunt, eyes haunted and dark.

No matter how Lambert yelled, even the soft nudge of Eskel's shoulder. He kept his peace even as Vesemir pulled him down into a hug, a firm hand on the back of his neck. 

Even his tears were black, now. The tower was silent except for Yennefer's cough, screaming long past. 

Eventually, Geralt needed help climbing the stairs, too tired to be embarrassed when Eskel silently slid his arms behind his knees, and slowly climbed. A bowl of the stew for dinner was balanced on his lap, and Eskel trod softly to avoid spilling on the too-light frame in his arms. 

Yennefer was a shadow of woman who arrived. The force of nature had dwindled to a mere tempest, a wraith with limp hair, and deep shadows over her eyes. 

The scent of rotten flowers was thick and heavy here. She snarled, and Eskel batted away the mug flung at them easily, though nearly spilled the stew. Once Geralt was ensconced in a chair, he tried convincing Eskel to leave. But the shattered remains of jars and cups around the room, along with the sickly sweet scent of rotten flowers- different, but just as cloying held him in place. 

The flowers were tiny, nearly indistinguishable due to the rot. Yennefer paced like a trapped tiger, malnourished and angry, the crackle of chaos tingled across his skin. But for all of her anger, for Geralt's excuses, the anger and accusations flew like knives. 

He grew up around Geralt's passive, sly commentary, his dry wit and sarcasm. He'd heard stories of Yennefer, the raw power and skill, but Geralt had never told him the story of the Djinn. 

It was any wonder she hadn't screamed herself hoarse, demanding answers from Geralt, who had none to offer. But as he stood, caught in the magic of the room and the fight between them, he was the only one who could catch Yenn when she fell. 

The choking was horrifying, and as Eskel bore her claws to swipe a thick finger in her mouth to free the trapped flower he was suddenly terribly grateful that Geralt's were so much softer, the rot taking. It was only when Yenn finally breathed freely did he glance at Geralt, hunched over with pleading eyes. 

The long stems were soft, but still tore up her throat, so Eskel listened quietly as Yennefer whispered. 

Yarrow. Yarrow for war. 

Rhododendrons for Danger. 

It was a curse, a fanciful, old one. From centuries before, a favorite of the fae. Flowers to drip from the lips until you declared your love. 

Neither had realized it for years, with how the their time together ebbed and flowed. The flowers grew, the curse grew, when you were thinking of the one you loved. It worsened, as you fought your feelings. 

Of course Eskel had questions but he read the book she had thrown in a corner. It was an old, slanting hand and as he read he asked questions, careful to phrase them so she only had to nod. She checked. She double checked. She had declared her love. Geralt had as well. 

Nothing worked. 

So he carried them both down to the kitchen, one at a time, and laid the book down. It was past time for secrets, past time for gentleness, before the curse claimed them both. Lambert raged again at the explanation of the djinn, his arms flung wide, until he caught sight of the empty mug in his hand. He set it down gently, pushing it away. 

Eskel didn't notice Geralt relax. Vesemir didn't see Yennefer's sneer. 

Lambert watched them closely, before asking the question the rest of the wolves had wondered silently. Geralt couldn't look anyone in the eye or explain why they knew of his bard friend, but not his involvement with the sorceress. She looked murderous, but remained silent. 

But the decision was made and Lambert had seen this before, so he stood and pointed, demanding another try. For science, no less. Declarations of affection were fine, but as he goaded them into more romantic language the coughing began. Geralt nearly passed out from the effort of declaring his love, and Vesemir had to snatch another long stem from Yennefer's mouth at her response. 

His callous wave of a hand demanding they now declare the opposite fell like a stone in a pond, everyone was silent. He stood, arms crossed, a hand waving them on imperiously. 

Yennefer stared at him, and spoke as firmly as she could manage, her throat torn and bruised.

"I don't love you."

Geralt repeated it, haltingly, hesitating. 

Neither coughed. 

Eskel nudged Geralt worriedly, to repeat it, just in case. So they did. Both firm, sure, more convinced than ever with the lack of those rotten, poisonous weeds that were buried in their chests by a malicious djinn. 

Yennefer stood, flinging herself up to her feet, still unsteady and ill, eyes flashing bright and angry, but calm. Tests would need to be made to see if it shattered the joining of their destinies, or simply solved this one facet of the djinn's malevolence. 

It would take time. But, as all the wolves could hear, lungs breathed clearly, the magic seeping away slowly, the grip on their throats removed by the breaking of the spell. It would take time, to understand. 

But when Geralt reached a hand out tentatively, an apology on his lips, she took his fingers gently. It was an apology she was owed, years late and not nearly enough, but she squeezed his hand anyway. 

She didn't love him. And he didn't love her. Yet now, free of the grip of an non-consensual binding, they had the chance to become friends. 

**Author's Note:**

> Here, we see the Djinn twist Geralt's wish into hanahaki- a forceable joining of two destinies. Yennefer and Geralt ... well. In the books they're not great to each other. In the games, still, eh. Netflix... gave us so little actual relationship building. 
> 
> You have two beautifully deep, complex characters. So don't send me hate, I don't hate either one of them. 
> 
> In this house, we hate the Djinn. Because I thought that was a hella shitty dubcon way to join their destinies.
> 
> Note: I had this plot bunny idea August 23, according to my discord DMs. 💜


End file.
